


Masquerade

by infantblue



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 08:40:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20863382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infantblue/pseuds/infantblue
Summary: Only an idiot would form a fake relationship with the girl of his dreams before he has a chance to tell her he loves her. Soul is that idiot.





	Masquerade

**Author's Note:**

> i initially wrote this for the soulmakazine last year and never got around to posting it, so here you go! please enjoy another dose of awkward!soul and sweetheart!maka as we know and love them <3 

As an introvert, Soul really hates parties.

As a guy in a fake relationship with the girl of his dreams, he really, really loves them.

"Soul!"

Hearing her voice call out to him, he turns just in time to see the radiant smile of his aforementioned fake girlfriend before she throws herself into his arms.

Soul manages to hide his grin in her hair as he uses her momentum to spin her around. For a girl as tiny as Maka, she can have more force than a bulldozer when she wants to. Although he eventually sets her back on her feet, he doesn't let go of her waist, keeping her body so firmly pressed against his that she has to lean back to look up at him. They're at a party, after all, and he has a role to play. A role he is very committed to pulling off.

At least, that's what he tells himself.

"Shit, Maka, you're acting like it's been seven years since we last saw each other and not seven hours," he teases. "You just left my bed this morning. It's not like I went anywhere significant."

The way she juts her bottom lip out in a pout is so fucking adorable that it takes everything he has not to smother her with kisses right there.

Compared to everyone else in the ballroom, Maka isn't nearly as dressed up. She's wearing the same practical one-inch heels that she bought years ago and refuses to replace in favor of anything dressier, claiming it's the only pair of comfortable heels that exist on the face of the planet. Her makeup is minimal, her hair is down in loose waves, and her dress is a simple dark green number made of polyester, unlike the wide range of silks and satins that currently fill the room.

Plus, the only piece of jewelry she dons is the stupid eighth note necklace he'd won for her at a fair in high school that she refuses to get rid of, no matter how much he groans about it.

She's still the most beautiful fucking thing he's ever seen.

"Oh, shut up," she pouts, her slender fingers sliding up the front of his fitted suit as he holds her to him. "Can't I be happy to see my boyfriend?"

"Only if you show your appreciation the way you know I like it…"

"Soul!"

"Sorry, sorry," he snickers in the manner of someone who isn't sorry at all. "You know I'm just kidding… mostly."

Another slap on the shoulder rewards his banter. Maka hates it when he uses innuendoes to propagate their pretend relationship. Unfortunately for her, as much as he lives and breathes to make her smile, he's also too damn addicted to the sight of her blushing to keep his snarky comments from surfacing, despite the depressing truth that he's never actually touched her in real life the way he's always wanted to.

To make up for his teasing, he leans down to murmur a truth for her alone: "You look beautiful tonight, Maka."

She hides her face in his shirt, but he knows her flush is real.

The two of them have been best friends since kindergarten. She used to scare him—not because she was outspoken and bold and cheerful in a way that made introverts feel like they were being thrust into the spotlight, but because she was so damn cute. And sweet. And god, she used to wear _pigtails_, which yeah, was a lot more acceptable than if she were to wear them now—Christ, his face gets hot just thinking about it—but even back in the day, prepubescent Soul somehow knew that this sunshine-walking, pigtailed girl would be the death of him.

He was dreadfully shy. And dreadfully awkward. He used to hide behind his mother's legs every time they so much as left the house, and when he was thrust into the hell called kindergarten with no parental appendages to cower behind, he sank. Like a freaking anchor torpedoing to the bottom of the ocean.

Maka was his Ariel, saving the pathetic prince from drowning when he was ambushed by the big, blue, volatile ocean that was Blake "Black Star" Barrett. Also known as Maka's godbrother.

That day in kindergarten was not the first time his tiny angel threw Black Star on the ground in a choke hold, and it certainly won't be the last.

Part of him was terrified that they'd grow apart as they grew older—read: that Maka would realize what a useless piece of dead weight he was and drop him like she was meant to—but that never happened. She stuck with him, and the more she stuck with him, the more he used her to hide behind instead of his mother. And the more he hid behind her, the more she led him out of his shell.

This continued through middle school, then high school, and when Maka grew tired of Liz setting her up with randoms in an attempt to get her laid (and Soul became exhausted with his overbearing parents breathing down his neck about finding a well-meaning girl to marry so he could be paraded around their exuberant social circles like some sort of prized cattle), it was only natural they would form a fake relationship to get everyone off their backs.

Because _obviously_, Maka deserved better than the pea-brained half-wits Liz set her up with, and _obviously_ Soul wasn't going to date some random girl just to make his parents happy. Not when the only person he could stomach for more than twenty minutes at a time had green eyes the size of dinner plates and a mean right hook.

He really believed it sounded like a good idea at the time.

It was meant to be a temporary thing; a short-term solution; a disposable Band-Aid. And yet, here they are, five years later at the engagement party of two of their closest friends, still pretending to be in a romantic relationship.

Clearly Soul knows exactly what he's doing with his life.

Sometimes he tries to imagine what his life would be like without Maka, whether if she left him or if she'd never saved him in the first place. He can't even picture it. It's like imagining his body without his soul. She's so deeply ingrained in him and in every memorable moment in his life that taking her out of the equation is like removing a vital part of him—a part that keeps him alive, keeps him sane, keeps him steady and warm and breathing.

He knows, realistically, that it's unhealthy to think this way. To think of this sweet, stubborn, reckless girl as his entire life and his only reason for living. He knows this.

And yet.

All of his friends are her friends, and his things are one-half her things, and his schedule only works with her schedule—and his heart? It's definitely hers. It always has been.

Too bad she doesn't know it.

"So where are the blushing brides-to-be?" Soul asks causally as he plays with a lock of hair that tumbles over Maka's shoulder. "Did you manage to prevent the Third World War of the Nakatsukasas or is Liz still ready to murder Masamune?"

There are eyes on them. There are _always_ eyes on them. Soul is the black sheep of the Evans family, dropping out of college in his second year to work at a recording studio instead of following his family legacy into a classical music career, and Maka is the daughter of Spirit Albarn: A-list movie star and notorious womanizer. She's also a textbook genius and the future valedictorian of Death University's latest graduating class. Even if they haven't been in a public fake relationship for the past five years, there would still be crowds watching them like hawks.

Considering Liz Thompson's marriage into the Nakatsukasa clan is said to be the event of the year, things are especially scrutinized right now at their engagement party. Tabloids just love drama at famous weddings.

Soul doesn't care. He just likes the excuse to touch Maka as much as he wants.

Seemingly oblivious to the heavy gazes watching their every move, Maka lets out a frustrated breath between her teeth and tightens her grip on his jacket. "I swear Masamune is trying to ruin his sister's big day on purpose, and you _know_ how Liz gets. She's more of a mama bear than I am. She's about ready to tear into Masamune's skull for making her fiancée cry."

"Don't stress about it. You've done all you can. The rest is up to them." He rubs her shoulders soothingly, then adds, almost as an afterthought, "And hey, if Liz ends up getting into a catfight with Tsubaki's big bro, that's her problem. Good publicity for her next clothing line. She's the one who always said that bad press is better than no press."

"Soul!"

"Sweetheart."

She returns his grin with a scowl. "You're not funny."

"I'm hilarious." He leans down for a selfish kiss, extracting a surprised squeak from her throat. "Come on, angel. People are watching. Make it good."

"Stop enjoying this," she complains against his lips. "I thought you were supposed to be a fuck-it-all bad boy who hates parties and loathes PDA. And what the heck's up with all the pet names? You're being—"

He cuts her off with his tongue, and his stubborn, talkative, maneater of a best friend doesn't have much to say after that.

Fifteen minutes later, Soul finds himself alone at one of the snack tables after Maka is pulled away for yet another DEFCON 1 emergency by both of the future brides. Since Tsubaki's maid-of-honor-slash-best-friend-who-also-happens-to-be-Maka's-godbrother is a little too exuberant to deal with sensitive situations, all responsibility falls on Maka to keep everyone sane.

That's a tough job in their circles. Soul does not envy Maka in the slightest.

And speaking of unavoidable insanity…

"Do my eyes deceive me or is that really my youngest son standing there in the flesh, alive and well?"

Soul inwardly groans. "Hi, Mom."

Clara Evans mock-faints at her son's greeting, which only makes him want to run away even more. But it's too late to flee now. He'd missed his chance, blinded by the impressive selection of sushi and sashimi presented to him, and now he's stuck in a conversation with his mother for the first time in months.

Next time, he swears to starve.

"I barely even recognize you," she pretends to gasp. "Look how you've grown!"

Soul concludes that while Maka is adorable when acting like it's been forever since she last saw him, his mother decidedly isn't. "Mom, stop it. It's only been a few months."

"A few months might as well be several years to a mother." She sniffs. "You'll understand when you have children of your own. Hopefully yours won't be as ungrateful and cruel as to not call their own mother without being bullied into it first."

He tries very hard not to roll his eyes. "What are you even doing here? You realize the fact that you're here at your eldest son's ex-girlfriend's engagement party is a little weird, right?"

"Elizabeth is a very nice girl," she responds immediately.

Soul snorts. "That wasn't what you said when she and Wes were dating. In fact, I believe you developed some choice words in your vocabulary during that time, such as _gold digger_ and _hussy_."

His mother has the decency to look embarrassed. "Wesley is my eldest son; you can't blame me for being overprotective. While pretty, Elizabeth Thompson does not have the best reputation and she ended up breaking my Wesley's heart anyway, so I was right to be concerned."

Soul is ninety-nine percent sure that his so-called heartbroken big brother is currently flirting with one of the bridesmaids that Liz set him up with, but arguing with Clara Evans is beyond a lost cause. Soul should know; the woman raised him. He opts to repeat his earlier question instead. "What are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to talk to my youngest and I happen to know him well enough that it won't happen unless I corner him at a place he's unable to leave."

"What makes you think I can't leave right now?"

Her expression is deceptively innocent. "Well, that wouldn't make the maid of honor very happy, now would it?"

After five years of lying about one of the most important relationships in his life, you'd think he'd have better control over his facial expressions and wouldn't look like he was caught with his pants down in the middle of his fake girlfriend's best friend's engagement party.

"How is our sweet Maka anyway?" she croons. "She's graduating in a couple weeks, right? Summa cum laude? Top of her class?"

"I suspect you already know the answer to that, so I don't understand the point of your inflection."

"Have you made any plans after her graduation yet? Booked a trip? Planned a spectacle? Please tell me the proposal isn't going to be some cheap thing after the end of an indoor movie night eating Chinese takeout on your living room floor. I think I might have a heart attack."

His face burns nearly as red as his eyes. "Mom!"

"What?" she says as if he's the one embarrassing her and not the other way around. "You've been promising me a daughter for years now and I let you put it off because you claimed to want to wait until she graduated. But she's done school now. The ceremony is in two weeks. Her best friends are getting married in a month. You no longer have an excuse."

"Mom, _stop it_." Soul glances around nervously to make sure no one is listening before leaning in closer and whisper-hissing like an overgrown lizard, "We're not—I mean—it's too soon, alright? I can't just—"

"You two have been dating for five years. If that's too soon, clearly I'll have to expect to be dead before you start giving me grandchildren." His mother gives him a very unimpressed look over her glass of champagne. "Don't tell me Elizabeth Thompson has bigger balls than you do, son. If she can work up the nerve to propose to the prized Nakatsukasa daughter, you can find the courage to ask your childhood sweetheart to put up with your sour, unappreciative face in a long-term arrangement."

"Hey!"

She sighs deeply. "How did I know this was going to be your reaction? Well, no matter. I predicted your utter lack of foresight and knew you'd be too awkward to get a ring yet, so I've helped you out a bit."

Then she reaches into her purse and pulls out_ a loaded fucking gun_.

Barely managing to hold back his screech of horror, Soul quickly clasps his hands over hers and shoves it back into the deep recesses of her strangely spacious handbag so fast he nearly tackles to her to the ground. Maybe that would knock some sense into the woman.

"Mom, what the hell?" he hisses. "Are you _insane_? You can't—you can't try to hand me a fucking engagement ring box in the middle of an engagement party like this! Do you know how fast that would blow up in the tabloids? Maka would find out she's pregnant and secretly married before I'd even have the chance to pop the question!"

"So you _have_ been planning something?" his mother asks hopefully. "Oh, thank god. If I had to plan the proposal myself and trick you into going, I think I might have to reevaluate my parenting skills. I hope I raised you better than that."

It's no wonder he's so messed up in the head when his parents are this goddamn crazy. "I'm _sorry_ my relationship with my girlfriend isn't moving at your high-neck pace, but I'm not going to rush Maka into something she isn't ready for just because you're eager to call her your daughter." As if she doesn't already. He swears, sometimes he thinks his mother loves his fake girlfriend more than she loves him.

She scoffs. "If you're looking for an excuse to put this off, at least try to find a better one."

"I'm serious! You know how she feels about marriage after what happened with her dad." Spirit Albarn has been married four times and cheated on every single one of his wives. Publically. Repeatedly. And then he cries and whines and begs when Maka shuns him, wondering why she doesn't love him, guilting her for not wanting to spend time with him. The asshole.

"What I know," says his mother, "is that Maka is a smart girl and understands you are nothing like her father. She adores you, and I know for a fact that you think she walks on water. I saw your face when she was dragged away earlier. Hell, I see your face every time you're separated from her for more than a few hours. You're not exactly subtle, son of mine."

Soul wonders if throwing himself off the third-floor balcony will save him from this embarrassment. "I'm abandoning this conversation."

"Fine. Pretend I'm wrong. Act like I don't know what I'm talking about. But at least take this." Inside her purse, she carefully wraps his fingers around the tiny velvet box before letting him reclaim his hand, which he hastily shoves into his jacket pocket as if that will erase its existence. "It was your grandmother's ring. You'll probably have to get it sized because Maka has the tiniest little hands, but I've seen her admire the ring before your grandmother passed. I think she'd be thrilled to wear it as part of our family."

"Mom—" His voice cracks, and she smiles gently as she touches his cheek.

"I know you think I'm pushy and annoying, but I only want the best for you, Soul. And Maka has always been it. Don't let her get away just because you're scared to take the next step. I know her. She loves you. She'll say yes." Then she winks. "I expect my invitation hand-delivered to me within the next month."

-x-

Later that night, when they return to the apartment they've shared since their first year of college, Soul collapses back on the couch a split second before Maka crawls on top of him.

He tries not to stiffen or think of anything remotely sexual, knowing that she's nothing but an innocent flower and doesn't seem to realize the effect she has on him.

They've always done this, their version of pseudo-cuddling where they never call it cuddling but there's no way in hell they both don't recognize it for what it is. Even before they started fake dating, they were always touching. Hands, bodies, arms, legs. One part of her was always strewn around him, or one part of him was always curled around her. It was natural, to exist like that, so natural that when they came out with their fake relationship, none of their friends were remotely surprised.

She plops down like a slab of jelly, limbs loose and her cheek like a marshmallow against his chest. The sounds bubbling from her throat are inhuman. Little whines resting on a low simmer.

Soul couldn't hold back his smile even if he tried. "That bad, huh?"

Mumbled whimpers answer him.

Gently running his fingers up and down her back—Jesus Christ, couldn't she have changed first, this backless dress is _torture_—he asks, "Body hurts or mind hurts?"

"Both," she grumbles into his shirt. "Liz is a bridezilla, Tsu keeps trying to make too many people happy, Blake nearly blew up the damn cake, and my feet are _killing_ me."

"Maka, you were wearing one-inch wedges."

"Don't make fun of me," she complains. "Even slippers can be painful if you've been running around in them all day, okay?!"

He bites back a snicker. "Sure, sure." With his other hand, he brushes back her hair. Admires the shadow of her lashes against her cheeks, the silk of her hair tumbling onto his chest, the calming smell of lavender and moonlight that he's always associated her with. "Want me to rub them for you?"

She makes a noise that's supposed to be a denial as she moves her head like a half-assed shake against his shirt. "Just keep doing that."

"This?" His fingers feel like they're melting against her back. He draws lines, again and again, and she hums a sound that is achingly akin to content, which makes his heart grow three sizes in his chest. How can she be this soft, this sweet, this perfect in his arms and not know how much he fucking needs her? "And you say _I'm_ like a puppy," he murmurs, but not without affection.

Maka is already out like a light.

A tiny velvet box burns a hole through his pocket. He knows he should move her, carry her to bed. Tuck her in. Let her pass out on an actual mattress and not on their tiny-ass couch while still fully dressed in the flimsy green torture instrument she's been wearing all day.

Instead, he presses a soft kiss to her temple and plays a song down her back until he falls asleep, trying to remember what's real and what exists only in his dreams.

* * *

Graduation comes and goes.

Soul sits in the stands with Black Star's adoptive parents—who are just as shocked and legitimately proud that the blue-haired idiot managed to graduate as Soul is—as well as the families of their other friends. When Maka recites her graduation speech which is ridiculously witty and surprisingly sentimental, Soul is not the only one who jumps to his feet to clap for her.

Maka's father doesn't attend. Neither does her mother.

Soul knows which absence hurts her more—not that she'd ever admit it.

Pictures document their every hug and kiss as he finds her afterward, but it's only when they're away from the crowds and the cameras does he tell her how proud he is of her. He tells her how he knew she could do it, how she's the brightest thing he's ever know, how she's going to rule the world someday and he hopes she'll remember him when she has a thousand other people clamoring for her attention. They're in a darkened corner, hidden from view, and even though they don't touch lips, the tearful hug she gives him might be worth a thousand fabricated smiles.

He wants to kiss her for real. So bad it hurts.

Instead, he holds her tight and makes sure she doesn't feel the burn.

He loses her at the after party. She's swept away by classmates, by admirers, by peers, and Soul forces an encouraging smile as she's dragged away with wide eyes calling for help. He hates being separated from Maka almost as much as he hates large gatherings like this, but this is a huge moment for her and he can pretend not to be a leech for a couple hours so she can bask in the glory of her amazing accomplishments.

Black Star finds him hiding in the corner of a crowded room, takes one look at him, and demands, "What the fuck's wrong with your face?"

No one ever said the boy had tact. Soul stares at the red solo cup in his hand, trying to think through three hours of badly mixed Jungle Juice, a missing fake girlfriend, and terrible pop music, before blurting out, "My mom is pressuring me to propose to Maka."

Blink. "Okay. And?"

Soul nearly chokes on his punch. "You—_what_? Is that all you have to say?!"

"Dude, you're not exactly subtle," Black Star snorts. "Everyone knows you've wanted Maka to take your last name and start popping out flat-chested, pigment-challenged babies, like, _yesterday_. Hell, most of us have a running bet that you guys have already eloped and are hiding it from Maka's pops so he doesn't murder you in your sleep. This is supposed to be news _how_?"

"I—I can't propose to her!" Soul squawks.

"Why the fuck not? Just pop the question, slap the biggest, brightest, most stupidly expensive boy-repellent of a diamond on her finger, and go to town. Easy."

Soul wonders what Black Star would say if he knew that Soul is actually a twenty-two-year-old virgin. Trying to find the words to voice the million reasons why Black Star is out of his fucking mind without letting it slip that Maka isn't actually his girlfriend proves to be impossible, so Soul gawks like an idiot for another thirty seconds before blubbering, "_I'm not ready to get married!_"

"Well, that's a big bag of bullshit. What's the real reason?"

"I—I—"

"Never mind, I don't actually care." Star yawns. "Go find Maks if you want to wax poetic about the gushy feelings we all know you have. The last thing I want to hear about is how you want to worship the nerdy alter that is my sister."

"You're an asshole," Soul yells after his so-called friend as he walks away.

Black Star raises a hand in acknowledgement but doesn't look back. "Love you too, future bro-in-law! Get 'er done!"

* * *

A few days later, everything goes to shit.

Soul is standing in front of the stove, nudging stir fry with a wooden spoon, when he feels her appear behind him. Normally, Maka has a soothing presence that warms him from the inside out—except when she's angry, of course, because then she's a force to be reckoned with and good luck to the poor asshole who is in line for her wrath—but now he can feel her tension and anxiety like a second skin, and it does nothing for his overactive nerves.

Concerned, he turns to ask her what's wrong and feels his body freeze at the expression on her face—but even more so at the black velvet box she holds in her hands like it's a grenade about to explode.

_Fuck. _

"I—I was looking your big fuzzy socks," she stutters out. "Because the AC was making me cold." And she always wears his clothes when she's chilly—claims they're warmer or some shit—and he's never complained because the sight of Maka wearing things that belong to him have always been enough to keep _him_ boiling hot. "Soul, what the hell is this?"

His mouth gapes open. He searches for the words to explain why the hell he has an enormous vintage diamond hidden away in his sock drawer like some dirty fucking secret, but he is caught off guard and coming up with excuses on the fly have never been his strong suit.

He's been putting off the talk for weeks. He knows they have to have it—the _what the hell are we going to do now that you're graduating and everyone's expecting us to get hitched_ conversation—but some big, deep part of him was hoping he'd find his courage in that time so that when they _did_ have it, he could tell her how much he wants to be with her for real instead of trying to lowkey lobby for their fake relationship's continuation while pretending a bogus engagement would be totally okay.

Because it's _not_ okay. Not even a little. And while Maka might've humored him by fake dating him for this long, she is not the kind of girl who would ever be okay with a fake marriage. Not after all her father's failed, publicized attempts.

Soul tries to speak. Wheezes instead. His heart wants to blurt out that he loves her and has wanted to marry her, _really_ marry her, ever since he found out her last name and dreamed of replacing it with his, but his mind—his mind is _terrified_. Because what if she says no? What if she thinks it's insane? What if she doesn't see him that way at all and his honest proposition scares the hell out of her and forces them to not only dissolve their fake relationship but their real-life friendship as well?

He can deal with her not returning his feelings. It'll _destroy_ him, but he can survive it.

What he can't live with is the possibility of losing her from his life forever.

"Soul?" Her green eyes are begging, _pleading_, needing him to speak, to give her any explanation at all that will make all of this okay and ease the fear that is clearly building in her heart.

And because he is a coward, he blurts out, "My mom is pushing for us to get married."

There is a long, tense silence. Maka stares at him with an expression full of pain that is also somehow unreadable and Soul can practically see his pathetic existence snowballing to tragedy at the end of the hill but he knows he can't stop. "Okay?"

"She thinks it's crazy that we've been dating for so long without getting engaged, and she made it clear that it's not acceptable now that you're graduated and moving across the country for grad school. She's expecting us to get engaged by the end of the summer."

He wishes he's a mind reader so he can understand what the hell is going on behind that halted turmoil in Maka's eyes. "_Okay?_"

God, can't she say anything else?! "Okaaaaay, well, it's crazy, isn't it?" He forces a laugh. "I mean, fake dating is one thing, but fake marriage? That's not… I mean, clearly we can't do that."

Her fingers tighten around the ring box. "Clearly."

"If we really need some pretend relationship to hide behind at twenty-two, we have to evaluate our life choices because that's just fucking insane." He lets out another half-hysterical laugh, which rises to an almost terrifying pitch as Maka merely stairs at him with blank, unreadable eyes that somehow tell him to shut the fuck up while making him continue to babble incoherently instead. "It's just—we can't. Obviously. It's—unfathomable. So. We should probably figure out how to deal with the rumors and shit? Since my mom can't be the only one expecting us to get hitched and we need to get our stories straight before we're forced to answer questions."

Another weighty pause. His palms feel so slick, he has to shut off the stove just to ease his mind that he won't catch on fire.

"Maka?" He practically begs her to speak with his eyes. "What do you… I mean, unless…" He swallows. Unless she what? Actually wants to be with him? _Don't be fucking ridiculous, Evans_. He clears his throat and tries again. "We could always just ignore the questions, if you want. Play coy or something. Or—"

"No," she interrupts, and her voice is smooth, deathly calm. "You're right. It would be _crazy_ for us to get engaged, right? Absolutely _insane_. Totally_ unfathomable_."

He stares at her like he's fifteen years old, getting ridiculed by the teacher in class for not knowing the answer in a way he couldn't possibly understand without knowing the answer. She wants something from him, he can feel it, but how can he possibly give her what she's looking for when he doesn't have any clue what that is? "M… Maka—"

"I guess that means we should break up."

The casualness of which she says the words is another blade being shoved through his chest because of how forcefully it _ruins_ him. He chokes on his own breath. Has to grip the edge of the counter with both hands just to keep from sinking to his knees. "_Maka_."

"What?" she says, and it's not innocent, not inflectionless, but it's not hostile either, not at all confrontational, and he doesn't know how to describe the look in her eyes but the only thing he can tell is that there's no way she wants this either, so why the fuck is she saying it anyway? "What else can we do, Soul? You're right. If this were a real relationship, we'd be getting married—but it's not, and it never will be, so why put off the inevitable now when we'll have to eventually end this thing anyway? If not now, then maybe another year down the road—maybe two?"

Soul is _shaking_. He tries to breathe, tries to speak, but words can't form in his mouth because he is fucking drowning and she's watching him from above the surface with eyes that could bury a fucking sailor. "I—I know it's complicated, but we can still… we can still pretend, at least for a little while, until we find another solution—"

"No." She shakes her head. Stares at the engagement ring box in her hand. "You were right. The fact that we've let this thing go on for as long as it has already is absurd. We're twenty-two. We need to grow up. Move on with our lives."

"I didn't mean—"

"And it's perfect timing too," she continues casually as if he's not completely shattering before her. "Now that I've graduated. It's the perfect excuse. You have a job here and I'm going to school in Boston, so we can tell people that we decided long distance wasn't going to work for us and we decided to part on amicable terms. Like a good, grown-up break up."

"I thought I was going with you," he whispers, his voice filled with hurt.

She doesn't look at him. "Well, now you don't have to. Anyway, it would be ridiculous if you gave up your job to follow a girl across the country who you weren't going to marry."

_No_. This isn't what he wanted at all. In all the scenarios in which he imagined this conversation going, he never once even _considered_ the possibility that she would move three thousand miles away without him.

He can barely breathe when she's not in his direct line of sight. How the fuck is he supposed to survive if she moves clear across the country and he doesn't even have the excuse of being her boyfriend to visit her?

"Maka, _please_. We can—we can _talk_ about this—"

"What else is there to talk about, Soul? We've been in a fake relationship for five fucking years. I mean, how pathetic can we be?" She lets out a hoarse, dark laugh. "Are we really so socially inept that we needed the clutch of some ridiculous farce to keep everyone in our life from pestering us about our nonexistent love lives? What did we think was going to happen, letting it go on this long? That we'd just keep pretending forever? That it would somehow become real?"

Soul feels her words like a punch to the gut. "You're my best friend, Maka. I don't want to lose you."

Her expression softens, only slightly, but her shoulders might as well be iron as she turns away from him, closing him off. She sets the tiny velvet catalyst on the table. "I should go."

"_What?_"

He stands there in shock for a moment as she disappears around the corner. Only when he hears a zipper rip through the air and the sound of ruffling clothes does he snap to attention, practically sprinting down the hall towards her bedroom where he sees the horrible, nightmarish image of the girl he loves _packing her fucking bags_ in the closet.

Soul jolts forward to grab her wrist before he can stop himself. She doesn't look at him as she tries to yank her hand out of his hold, but he only grips her tighter, begging her to meet his pleading gaze. "Maka, _Jesus_. You don't have to fucking pack your shit and leave!"

"If we're broken up, I can't stay here," she says to the ground. "People don't continue to live together after they split. That's not normal, Soul, and we have to make this breakup appear as realistic as possible."

He sucks in a sharp breath that's filled with lead. "Well—then we'll put it off. Or something. We don't have to tell people we broke up yet. We can keep pretending for a while—at least a few weeks so we can figure out what the hell we're going to do and make actual decisions instead of rashly picking up and dipping. We can—"

"Why?" For the first time since she said they were breaking up, Maka tips her head to look at him, and the force behind her green-green-green eyes makes it impossible to breathe. "Why put it off?" she presses. "What's the point? It's going to happen anyway. Might as well be now."

"You don't even have anywhere to go!" he hisses. "We've barely talked about this. We can't just—I mean, this is a huge decision, Maka. A _huge_ decision. It shouldn't be made in a spur-of-the-moment argument on a Sunday when we have nothing planned. That's not us at all."

"Breakups are unexpected," she says matter-of-factly. "That's just how it works. I can stay with Liz or Star until I figure something out. If we plan our split, it won't be nearly as convincing. This is better."

It takes everything inside him not to scream. "Can you just stop for one fucking second about what everyone else is going to think and just think about what _you_ want?" he practically explodes. "Maka, you need to tell me what you want because there's no fucking way this can be it. Us, breaking up? Pretending not to be friends? Living in separate states? This can't be it." _Please_. "You know I'd ruin the fucking world to give you anything you want—anything at all—so just fucking _tell_ me, damn it. Tell me what you need and I swear I'll give it to you, no matter what it is. You know I will."

Now that they're looking at each other, now that he can meet her eyes while they're touching this close, he realizes that her expression isn't unreadable at all. It's filled with _grief_—pure, unadulterated sorrow. She doesn't want this any more than he does, doesn't want to leave him any more than he wants her to, and yet she'll do it anyway. He can see the resolve in her eyes. She's going to leave them, ruin them, break them, all because she thinks it's the right thing to do.

All because she thinks it's what he needs her to do.

Soul opens his mouth—to beg her, or yell at her, or cry with her, he doesn't know—but before he can have the chance to speak, Maka rises onto her toes and pulls his head down enough just so their lips can meet.

It's soft, and gentle, and sweet—and it's goodbye. The worst kind of goodbye he's ever known.

And then she's out of his grasp and back to rummaging through the closet, her bangs falling into her eyes, covering the tears he knows she's trying so fucking hard to hide.

"We'll need to keep our distance from each other for a while for the breakup to settle down," she says to her clothes, her hands shaky and mechanical as she folds each one into squares and shoves it in her bag. "I'll send for the rest of my stuff tomorrow. Text you when I'm settled down so you'll know I'm okay. Once I move to Boston in August, we should be able to freely communicate over the phone without it compromising our breakup, but until then, you need to promise me you won't eat takeout everyday. I know how you are when I'm not around to kick your ass. Don't be lazy. I mean it."

She's fucking crying as she packs her bags and she only cares about him. Soul has never wanted to die as much as he does in this moment, watching the girl he loves struggle not to fall apart and not being able to do anything to save her. "Maka, _please_," he begs.

He needs time. Time to process and find the words to respond to this giant fucking tragedy he's been dealt, because he can't fucking breathe right now under this level of horror and he doesn't know how anyone can expect him to. He wants to beg her to stay, tell her he loves her, but he doesn't know _how_.

Green eyes flutter up to meet his. She looks sad, so damn sad, but still she forces a smile as he hovers over her like a pathetic leech trying to take more than she is able to give.

"We'll be fine," she promises him. "It'll be fine."

Neither of them believes her.

* * *

He used to love their apartment. They chose it together, decorated it together, made it a home together.

Well, to be fair, it was mostly Maka making all the decisions with him quipping snarky comments just to annoy her because he didn't really care about the curtains anyway, but still. It was _theirs_. For the past four years, it became their sanctuary from the rest of the world where she could curl up against him without worrying how the media would perceive it and he could lay his head on her lap without having their friends make crude jokes and gestures.

It was safe. Home.

Now it just feels like a prison.

Four days after their staged breakup, someone pounds on the door with enough force that Soul is surprised it doesn't crack under pressure. It takes him entirely too long to drag his sluggish body with his comforter cocoon so he can answer it.

Black Star shoves past him into the apartment the moment the latch unclicks, his blue brows furrowed to hell as he grabs the front of Soul's wrinkled shirt and yells, "What the fuck did you do to my sister?!"

Soul is not in the mood. With a look of pure disdain, he peels Black Star's fingers from his chest, tightens the blanket around his shoulders, and slinks back towards his bedroom without saying a word.

Predictably, Black Star doesn't take the hint to leave and follows right on Soul's heel.

"Jesus, you look like shit," comments Star. "I mean, I knew you wouldn't exactly be happy with this breakup, but I thought you'd at least be moderately functional. Aren't you the one who broke up with her?"

His spine stiffens just as he collapses back onto his mattress. Is that what Maka's telling people? He almost wants to laugh. For all her talk of making their breakup seem realistic, she really did fuck up by deciding that Soul would be the instigator of their relationship's demise. Anyone who has spent any time around them knows how ridiculously implausible that is. He's way too obviously in love with her for anyone to believe _he'd_ be the one to break them up.

Well, obvious to everyone but Maka, apparently.

Curling up under his blanket, Soul shields his face from the world and mumbles, "I'm not in the mood, Star. Get the fuck out of my house."

Black Star rips the sheets away from Soul's face instead, his expression contorted into one of blatant disbelief. "Come on, dude, this is just pathetic. I came over here to kick your ass for making Maka cry and you're making it impossible to want to beat you up. Now I just want to smack you across the face until you gather the balls to bite back."

Soul imagines he has lasers coming out of his eyes that can obliterate the annoying human in front of him into smithereens. "Are you naturally this insufferable or is it a special setting you reserve just for me?"

"I always take care of my followers," he says diplomatically, which unsurprisingly doesn't answer Soul's question at all. "Seriously though, man, what the fuck happened? Last I heard, you were getting ready to pop the question and now Maka is telling everyone that you two broke up and you are nowhere to be found. The girls are kind of freaking out. I think Liz made a voodoo doll of your sharky face and turned it into a fucking porcupine."

The_ sharky face_ in question contorts into a grimace. Soul isn't surprised. He hasn't spoken to Maka since she sent him a brief yet polite text saying she was staying at Liz's until she figured something out, but when the Thompson sisters arrived at the apartment to collect more of Maka's stuff, the taller blonde had a _lot_ to say.

His ears are still ringing after that encounter. He always knew Liz Thompson could be terrifying when someone hurt a person she loved, but that was taking it to another level.

"Didn't Maka already tell you what happened?" Soul grumbles unhappily, trying and failing to yank back his blanket from Black Star's unbreakable grasp. "We fought. We argued. We decided long distance wasn't for us. End of story."

Black Star looks confused. "I thought you were already going to Boston with her. Since when has that been a problem?"

"I don't want to fucking talk about it."

"Well, either you change your mind or I beat your ass until you do." When Soul merely makes a face and burrows deeper into his blanket burrito, Star yanks the sheets away like a whip, ignoring Soul's weak protests. "Look. Chained to Maks or not, you're still my bro. And as your bro, it is my job to tell you to get your head out of your ass and tell her you love her before you fuck up for good."

"I've told her I love her plenty," Soul argues, but Black Star only snorts.

"Not as the truth. Not outside the stupid fucking fake relationship you two built."

"Wait—_what?_"

"Oh, please. You didn't really think you could hide that shit from your god, did you?" He rolls his eyes. "It was obvious to everyone you weren't actually getting any, not with the way you still stared at her. No one with a lick of common sense could've believed that pretend shit you guys tried to pull."

Black Star talking about common sense is about as mind-blowing as a three-month-old puppy standing on two feet and belting out an opera. Soul finds that his jaw can do nothing but gape as he squawks like a prehistoric bird. "I don't—you can't—_what?_ How? _When_?"

"Tsu and I figured it out the day you fucking told us, dumbass. It didn't take long for everyone else to find enlightenment either. The last of our friends to realize the truth was probably Liz, and she flipped her shit when Tsu spilled the beans. Pretty sure the only reason she believed you for so long was because of wishful thinking."

"Why the hell didn't any of you say anything?" Soul cries.

"Hey, it's not our fault you two are some slow motherfuckers. None of us thought you'd be stupid enough to let it go on this long. By the time we realized we were wrong and you were, in fact, colossal idiots, the stakes were too high and none of us wanted to take the penalty of having to tell you the truth."

"Stakes?" he echoes. "Penalty?" Then his jaw drops. "Are you telling me that the reason all of you went along with our fake relationship for five fucking years is because you guys had a giant _betting_ pool?"

Black Star examines his nails, unperturbed by the utter disbelief in his friend's tone. "I think the prize money is like… three grand at this point? Not all of us have a trust fund like you do, Eater. That dough was gonna help me buy Kid's birthday present."

"Why you little—" Soul must've really lost his mind if he believed for a second he could ever take Black Star in any capacity, so a ten-second struggle results in Star pinning Soul to the ground while laughing maniacally at Soul's pathetic attempt at a tackle.

"Bro, you really need to hit the gym with me sometime. That was pitiful."

"I fucking hate your guts," Soul growls, his words and cheek garbled by the floorboards. "Go die in a hole."

The beefed-up, blue-haired shortcake releases his hold and helps Soul to his feet with a wide grin splitting his ridiculous face. "But if I kicked the bucket, who else would help you win my sister back?"

* * *

The candles might've been a little much.

Maybe not the fact that he lit candles in general, but that he lit _so fucking many_. You'd think people working at a candle store would be used to people mass purchasing some of their finest products, but Soul had every eye on him as he wheeled his massive haul out of Yankee Candle and they certainly weren't checking out his ass.

Plus, the waxy pieces of junk are hella expensive. Like, ridiculously so. Who the hell charges thirty dollars for a goddamn jar of wax that is meant for lighting on fire? They might as well just burn their fucking wallets.

Romance is not cheap.

His escalating sweat and anxiety peaks when he hears keys jingle from the other side of the doorway. Jumping to his feet, he smooths down the front of his suit—he's probably way too overdressed considering he plans to spend most of his time on his metaphorical knees, but fuck it all—and he is certain he isn't breathing when Maka pushes open the door and walks inside.

She freezes. Her wide green eyes flicker around, from where dozens upon dozens of flaming candles are set up all over their apartment to where Soul stands in the center of the living room, looking every bit as awkward and embarrassed as ever.

"Wha—?" She blinks rapidly. Glances over her shoulder at the heavy door that had fallen shut behind her. Looks back to him again. "I. Um."

Maka seems so completely lost and flustered that it makes Soul's heart feel all too warm in his chest, and dear sweet god, he fucking loves this girl. He loves her so fucking much.

"I thought—I thought you said you weren't going to be home," she stutters, her eyes continuing to shift around as she backs up into the door, her hand scrambling blindly for the knob. "I was just coming over to pick up the last of my things, but I can come back some other time if you're expecting someone—"

For a moment, Soul cannot comprehend what she's saying, but then realization slams into bones and he's lurching forward so abruptly that he nearly trips over his goddamn feet. "What? No! God, I—_no!_ No, no, no, no, NO. Jesus, Maka, I'm not—I was waiting for _you_, no one else," he stresses, and the thought that she could even think he'd do this cheesy romantic shit for anyone else blows his fucking mind.

Confusion grows in her eyes to epic level proportions as she glances around the room once again before she looks up at him. Her finger points to her chest. "Me?"

An astonished laugh bursts from his chest. "Yes, Maka, _you_. I mean, you were running late and I spent the past twenty minutes thinking I was going to end up accidentally burning down our apartment building or setting off the fire alarm, but yes, you. I did this all for you."

"But—_why?_"

He's standing in a suit surrounded by rose petals and candles and she still doesn't understand what he's trying to say. Good fucking lord, she's dense. But then again, apparently so is he.

It's no wonder it took them this long to get their feelings straight.

Eyes never leaving hers, Soul takes another step forward so he's directly in front of her, looking down into her wide, terrified eyes, and he wants to kiss her so badly it's physically _hurting_ him, but he won't do it. He won't ever kiss her again under false pretenses, not without telling her the complete and utter truth. It's what got him into this mess in the first place and he likes to think he only has to make the same mistake a hundred thousand times before finally getting it right.

"Why do you think I did this?"

A little bit of fear flickers across her perfect, heart-shaped face. She quickly shakes her head. "I—I don't—"

"Yes, you do," he interrupts.

"Soul, I'm not sure—"

"Maka."

"Don't make me say it," she blurts out suddenly, and there are tears in her eyes and thorns in his chest, and he feels like a deer in the headlights, unable to comprehend how to deal with a crying angel in his grasp. "I think I know what you're trying to say but I also know that sometimes what I want tends to blur reality into my perception, so you can't make me guess. If I'm wrong, it'll kill me, and it'll kill us, and I don't want to lose you anymore than I already have, so you have to tell me or I'll explode trying to hold everything in and I can't do this again, not now, not after what I've been through this past week. So please, Soul, please—don't force me to."

For the first time since Maka walked out of their apartment with packed bags and his heart shattered on the floor, Soul is hit with the gravity of the situation. Because he isn't the only person who has been through hell this week. And if Black Star is right and Maka really feels for him the way he feels for her, Soul knows he isn't the only one who had his heart broken.

He is such a fucking idiot.

"Would you believe me," he murmurs, his hand reaching up to cup her cheek, "if I told you I've been in love with you for a long time? A _long_ time. Pretty much since the moment I met you."

She trembles against his palm. "Would you mean it?"

"I would never lie to you, Maka. Not about this."

"I'd still think it's a dream. Not because I don't believe you," she adds before he can act on his frown, "but because it's something I've dreamed for so fucking long, I don't even know how to deal with the possibility that it might finally come true."

His entire soul is beaming but by some miracle, he manages to keep a straight face. "I think we start with a kiss."

"You think?"

"I wouldn't know for sure. I'm kind of new at this, you know."

She cracks a smile. "Me too."

"So… can I? Kiss you?"

Maka squeaks adorably. "Right now?"

"Well, we could wait if you wanted, but technically we've been sucking face for five years, so I was hoping you wouldn't mind if I did it again." It's a lame attempt at a joke and it doesn't end up working anyway, because his girl merely shakes her head once, her voice not even a whisper.

"It's different like this though."

Fuck if he doesn't know that. This isn't some farce he can hide behind. This isn't some masquerade he can perpetrate to get what he wants. This is real, and she's his everything, and the last thing he wants to do is fuck it up.

He can deal with being a failure his whole life if he just gets this one thing right.

In the end, _Maka_ is the one who's brave enough to breach that line. Isn't she always? She leads and he follows. She's the spearhead of their courage that makes a path for him so he can trail close behind.

She tugs of the front of his jacket, bringing his face close to hers as she rises onto her toes, and gently presses her lips to his.

Everything else fades away.

He slams against her like a goddamn freight train, all hands and teeth and skin begging for hers. Her fingers tangle in his hair and his palms slide down her back, and he thanks heaven and hell and all the gods he doesn't believe in for allowing this fantasy to come true because her ass is pretty much his favorite thing in the universe and he still can't believe he's touching it. That he's touching _her_, for real this time. That this is happening at all.

They've been kissing for five years and she still makes him feel this way.

Soul isn't surprised in the slightest. It's been like this since they were five years old.

His control doesn't last long because he's an idiot and she's fucking perfect, and he hasn't realized how much talent she's been holding back in that tongue of hers until this very moment. Understanding that he's going to lose his ability to stand in about negative two seconds, he yanks her body up against his, her long, lean, fucking incredible legs wrapping around his waist as he stumbles down the hall.

He practically collapses over her onto the bed, and she certainly isn't complaining. Her hands are wild, demanding, digging into his scalp then his neck until they anchor against his shoulder as he kisses lines down her throat. The sounds she's making are driving him fucking crazy and he wants more of it. He wants it all, and judging by the breathy way she keeps begging for _more more more_, she does, too.

Only when his kisses have dipped into the uncharted territory beneath her collar does Soul jerk back, his expression freezing with horror. "Shit."

Maka looks equal parts dazed and alarmed. "What is it?"

"I shouldn't have lit so many fucking candles."

* * *

"Hey, Star?"

"'Sup, brotato! Whaddaya need?"

"Just out of curiosity, who ended up winning the bet?"

Choked spit. A burst of near-hysterical laughter. "Dude. Ask your _mother_."


End file.
